


Present Perfect

by XYDamianKane



Series: One-Shot Requests [2]
Category: DCU, Impulse (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Desperation, Extremely Underage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Omegaverse Typical Dubcon, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Max has not had, per se, a pack, or a mate for longer than one rut. Such is his relationship to time.Bart is the closest he’s had to either, and he's presenting as an omega in their kitchen.
Relationships: Bart Allen/Max Mercury
Series: One-Shot Requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622770
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Present Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the very cool @sunamaryllis on twitter!

Max shuts the door behind him, and the stark change from the muggy Alabama heat outside raises goosebumps on his arm first thing. The air conditioning is blasting, even higher then Bart normally keeps it when left unsupervised. Water leaks steadily from the window unit.

Bart’s scent is different today--younger, sweeter, and absolutely overpowering, even from here.

The house is uneasily quiet, but for the faintest noise in the dining room, so the light rushes over him and he runs.

Bart is here, of course, fidgeting at normal speed-- sitting backwards in one of the chairs, clumsily humping at the cushion and biting his hand, probably to try and stifle the high-pitched little cries he makes with each thrust.

He’s flushed pink all the way down his chest. He looks at Max with his big yellow eyes and doesn’t stop. If anything, he ruts more frantically.

(It’s probably bad that Max’s first thought is: at least he’s more-or-less clothed, even if it’s in his tiny red gym shorts. Besides, the curtains are shut.)

Max lets his eyes close. All he can say, breathless with frustration, is, “ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry-- I wanted to make lunch but I couldn’t stop--”

Max’s vision swims and flares red, and it feels good. He’s actually angry--there’s an overheated head rush that comes with it-- in a way he can’t remember being in a long time. _Finally_. He should really put Bart in his place.

He sits in the other chair and turns the boy over his knee before he’s realized he’s doing it. He scruffs the boy with one hand and yanks his shorts down with the other. Bart goes boneless and shivers in his lap.

Max spanks him, marks him with big pink handprints that feel so right, too right--the noise of each blow is sharp and loud, but it’s muffled by the rushing in his ears.

Bart is shuddering, whining, but not with pain.

_5--6--7--_

Something is leaking onto Max’s pants.

_8--9--10--_

Max suddenly understands, like an alarm has gone off, and he moves to carry the boy upstairs at speed--

And all of his clothes, all of Bart’s clothes, Bart’s nation-state of stuffed animals, and one or two blouses he recognizes as Helen’s (?!) are arranged in an enormous pile on the floor. Boys’ clothes that are definitely too big for Bart are tucked inside, too--he must have been nesting for days.

(How was Max supposed to know? His room always looks like this!)

And Max can feel the rut Bart’s first heat must have triggered boiling inside him. It’s been ten or twenty or forty years since _this_ had caught up to him. His biological clock is way overdue.

He has to go.

Bart is still in his arms struggling weakly to no particular end. He speaks up, on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry--help me, please, Max, I need it--” he whimpers, and then it’s over.

He’s right. He needs it so desperately, he’s finally willing to cooperate; to take whatever Max will give him.

Max lays him down in the makeshift nest and pulls his legs open. Bart already looks obscene. He’s flushed and trembling, looking at Max with the unfocused eyes of an animal. His hair is fanned around his head and already mussed, somehow. His cunt is red and puffy and drooling slick.

Max has to let his anger dissolve inside him, first. Let it transform into something better.

His hands shake with it as he undoes his fly.

His thoughts are swirling: he wants so badly to _fuck him, bite him, knot him_ and he knows Bart will cramp and cry and suffer if he doesn’t--so what’s his problem?

He takes his cock out, already hard. He’s dizzy--the fire and the head rush are like nothing else. He covers Bart’s body with his own. They move as if underwater as he gives in and presses his cock inside Bart for the first time. It’s all so wet but Bart hasn’t quite figured out how to relax these muscles yet, so Max really has to push. The head pops in, and the top third of his cock slides in with it.

Bart howls, and his muscles seize up, like he can’t decide whether to try and crawl away or open further.

Max rumbles, kind of shushes him and runs a hand through his hair as he pushes more gently. This kind of touchy-feely pack-bonding--comforting, really--doesn’t come naturally to him, but it seems like the right thing to do. And Bart does relax, around him, beneath him.

He’s all but sobbing with relief, now, and leaning into Max’s touch. It’s the closest Max has been to seeing him cry before.

This is an itch Bart can’t scratch on his own, he thinks--normally Bart can satisfy his own whims, his brain’s own arbitrary demands. But he _needs_ Max, here-- with him-- to mate him--

“You’re slick enough. You can relax. Let me--” his throat runs dry, so he swallows. Max barely recognizes the thunder in his own voice. Bart’s walls twitch and flutter around him. His brow is furrowed, he’s biting at his own lips.

Max lifts Bart’s hips--he’s so light-- and guides Bart’s legs around his waist to make the angle easier. He manages to sink a little deeper like that. He’ll have to work him up to fit his knot inside. Bart twists and tenses and cums around him. Max lets him shudder through it, but when it’s over, he looks similarly desperate and has only gotten wetter.

Max manages to keep his head, to ease in with little thrusts.

Bart seems far smaller, under him like this. Max cradles Bart’s head, pushes it into his shoulder as he fucks him and Bart is every inch as soft and sweet as his cunt.

All he knows is that his body needs it: to claim his boy, to breed him. Lightning crackles over both of them, and Max feels time roll over them slower as he finally forces his knot inside. It’s not even swollen yet, but Bart gasps at the sudden stretch and tightens around him.

“You can take it. I know you can take it. You just have to relax.” He’s not just saying that, he means it.

He makes his thrusts shorter, faster, shallower now, pushing just his knot in and out to make sure Bart can relax around it at this size, before it swells and locks inside him. And it will--Max is going to make sure of it. He knows Bart will only be satisfied if he’s properly bred, even if that satisfaction is only temporary.

Bart shudders and his eyes roll back as he cums again, and Max returns to himself. His hips chase the tight flutter of Bart’s walls around him.

Bart isn’t running quite so hot, now, the initial edge taken off. He must be more able to control his limbs, now, because he reaches up to hold Max by the biceps. He tightens his legs higher around Max’s waist, too, and the angle is easier, like this. His eyes aren’t quite so glazed over and he’s kind of panting and smiling up at Max.

“You’re really strong, huh?”

Max startles himself by laughing. He buries his head in the boy’s neck and breathes in. The look on Bart’s face is overwhelming him with something. Max has to focus on making himself cum to stop himself from giving in to the urge to bite down. He can feel himself salivating. He makes sure his mouth is closed and he presses the tip of his tongue to his canine teeth, each one in turn.

Max has not had, per se, a pack, or a mate for longer than one rut. Such is his relationship to time. Bart is the closest he’s had to either.

So he’s going to do it, he’s going to breed him--his knot pushes in and in until it’s swollen too large to pop back out, and Max feels his body tighten all over as he cums.

He bites back a noise and Bart looks at him with a kind of amused awe. Max is spilling and spilling inside him. He doesn't know when it will stop.

He gingerly tries to lift his weight off of the boy--Bart seems uncharacteristically fragile like this, and he doesn’t want to crush him.


End file.
